


Burton Guster's guide to plotting your best friend's demise

by JustDanny



Series: Shassie goodness [1]
Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Humor, M/M, POV Burton "Gus" Guster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26479702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustDanny/pseuds/JustDanny
Summary: In which Shawn is acting a bit weird, Lassiter's not grumbling enough, and Woody's about to get his groove back, maybe.(Or, Gus should've probably seen this one coming.)
Relationships: Burton "Gus" Guster & Shawn Spencer, Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
Series: Shassie goodness [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052168
Comments: 17
Kudos: 133





	Burton Guster's guide to plotting your best friend's demise

"Actually, I've heard it both ways."

Gus mentally counts to ten. He's not going to engage his best friend, not today. No: Shawn needs to learn that there are limits, dammit, and -as Dr Heckler has told him on countless occasions - he himself has to stop being a facilitator. If Shawn Spencer, psychic extraordinaire and mediocre friend, wants to keep up his childish antics, he'll have to find a different wingman. At least for today.

Straightening up his shirt and making sure that his face and head have been perfectly moisturized, Burton Guster The Responsible Adult opens the door to the Psych office, ready to leave, only to find himself face to face with a very pissed off detective and another, slightly amused one. Weirdly enough, it isn't Lassiter but Juliet the one about to explode; the reason, he thinks with a resigned sigh, is probably slouching on the couch inside. Not knowing what Shawn has done, his self-preservation instincts yell for him to run before it is way too late. His BFF-ness, on the other hand, forces him to stay rooted in place. Inwardly, he waves goodbye to his planned visit to the masseuse, and plasters a forced, quivering smile on his face.

"Oh, hi, Jules. What a wonderful-"

He's easily brushed aside by the forceful hurricane that is Juliet O'Hara, who storms inside followed faithfully by her partner. There's a small smirk tugging at Lassiter's perpetually set mouth, which only adds to the strangeness of it all.

"Shawn Spencer! What, in the name of all that's holy, do you think you're doing?"

When he turns, Gus finds himself staring at a picturesque scene. Shawn, the coward, is half-hidden behind the couch, while Jules hovers over him like a vengeance-fueled vulture. She seems downright furious; truly a sight to behold.

"Jules! Sweet, lovely, beautiful Jules; I think there's been a-"

"Don't, Shawn; just, don't. I don't need an excuse: I just want you to fix it! Now!"

She's almost panting, chest heaving, standing as close to Shawn as she can while he makes sure the couch is still acting as a shield. 

"Look, if this is about-" Shawn seems to be at a loss as to what, exactly, he's done this time. 

"Woody. This is about Woody: and don't you even dare pretend you don't know anything about that. He's babbled. Told me it was you who-"

Sometimes, Gus suspects he has a hidden death wish himself. It is probably the reason he keeps going along with Shawn's schemes, despite Dr Heckler's advice. It is also what makes him speak right now.

"Sorry, but what's happened exactly?"

All eyes roll back to him at that. Still, he presses on.

"Shawn? Jules? Lass-?"

It is the psychic who answers first.

"Well, you see. The other day-" Gus glares, and so Shawn decides that maybe keeping it short is not such a bad idea. "The thing is, Woody's been a bit down these days, and I thought that, well, Jules is a great listener-"

"So you sent him to my house, in the middle of the night," Juliet's finger jabs at the psychic's chest, her whole body almost falling on top of the couch. "And, and you told him-"

"Okay, okay, okay!" Shawn's arms shoot up in defeat. "I may have _accidentally_ given him the impression that you were in fact in on it all. And," he adds after a pointed look from Jules, "that perhaps 'it all' was more like, eh, 'him'. As in, a, a _more than friends_ situation." After the admission, he gives her his best puppy eyes. Still, the detective doesn't seem amused. "Come on, Jules, he's harmless! And he's been having a rough time, what with his wife and the yoga instructor, his wife and the baseball player, his wife and-"

"All right, stop it there, Spencer. We get it."

Lassiter seems to be enjoying this. Not that it surprises Gus in the slightest: the man's probably dreamt about this exact scene at least a few times. Well, maybe without the whole Woody background.

"But Laaaaaaassie! He's sad. I can't stand it when my friends get sad. Good people deserve a little bit of happiness every once in a while, don't you think? Look at you, for example: you can't be grumpy all the time, can you? That wouldn't be fair."

With a winning smile, Shawn leaves his hiding place and practically slithers up to Lassiter, hands grabbing onto the man's jacket and tie. The detective does his best to shake them away to no avail; he lets out a warning growl that Shawn chooses to ignore in favor of invading the older man's personal space.

"Spencer-"

"What do you think, Jules? Don't you think our Lassafrass needs to get out more, learn how to have fun?"

It is magic, really. His words, his movements, work like a spell: it doesn't take long for Juliet to get roped in, though she still doesn't look exactly happy. But Shawn's a genius, an expert puppeteer; Gus knows he'll fix this somehow.

"Actually, Spencer," Lassiter's hands grab Shawn's firmly; and maybe it's just Gus' mind playing tricks on him, but he could've sworn that they linger slightly longer than necessary, thumbs tracing careful circles on his friend's wrists before pushing them away. "I actually _do know_ how to have fun."

Shawn's eyes light up with something that can only be described as pure, unadulterated _chaos_. Only then does Lassiter realize he's fallen for it: his eyes widen, and he takes an unconscious step back.

"It's settled, then. Our very own fun expert here will take Woody away from your kingdom, Jules. Queendom. Is that-?"

"What do you mean, Shawn?" Understandably, Juliet is still suspicious.

"Well, it so happens that Woody has a couple of tickets to Santa Barbara's Spooky Funfair, starting tomorrow. And, I may have told him you wanted to go." He actually squirms under her gaze, but still plunges on. "But I'm sure he'll prefer a guys' night out, no offense, Jules. Especially if it's with our handsome, fun-loving Head Detective here."

A thousand watt smile, and Juliet's eyes dart quickly to her partner.

"Would you- Would you do that for me, Carlton?"

Hopeful, almost starry-eyed: no man on Earth could say no to that. Defeated, the head detective shoots a poisoned glare towards Shawn.

"Sure. Why not."

She responds to his deadpan with a hug, a brilliant grin, a thank you and a promise to buy him coffee.

Somehow, Gus knows this isn't over.

***

"So, tell me again, Shawn. Why are we going to a thing called Spooky Funfair? At night? In the middle of nowhere?"

The psychic shakes his head with a condescending smile. Patting his best friend's back, he promptly ignores his questions in favor of the closest food stand.

The festival doesn't really seem that bad. True: the decorations are gory, and somebody decided to celebrate it far enough from any civilization that it is only technically still in Santa Barbara, but all in all it's not awful. There's not many people -mostly goth kids and families-, the rides seem fun, and the food is decent.

Something, Gus decides, smells fishy.

He doesn't trust Shawn: a whole life worth of regrettable experiences has taught him the only possible results to any of his best friend's ideas are pain, humiliation and, well, maybe a little bit of fun. 

Still, the psychic has been weird these last months. Subdued, almost calm: if he didn't know better, he could've sworn Shawn's trying to grow up a little. The only reasons he can come up for that are: a) Henry Spencer has finally managed to talk some sense into his son, which is frankly highly improbable; or b) Shawn's trying to impress someone. The last date Gus remembers his friend having, though, ended with a visit to the morgue -she'd told him she wanted to go somewhere quiet- and a punch to the nose. Also, Shawn hasn't really been forthcoming on that front. Normally, Gus would already know every embarrassing detail about the lady in question, but the psychic has only been blabbering about the station, Jules' thawing hatred of him, and Lassiter's latest set of awful ties. Oh, and Woody's-

Oh.

"Shawn." No response, not even a look back to him. Shawn's eating a corn dog that's supposed to look like a disembodied finger, but that only succeeds in looking like a slightly diseased corn dog. Gus' unease creeps up to his stomach and grips it tighter. "Shawn, don't tell me we've come here to be with-"

"Hey, guys, fancy seeing you here!"

A manic grin spreads on Shawn's face: Gus' gaze follows his best friend's, and he lets out a mortified groan. Of course. Of-frigging-course.

Woody, dressed in black with some mascara awkwardly spread around the eyes, offers them an enthusiastic wave and a crushing hug once he reaches them. Next to him, detective Lassiter looks ready to kill.

"Shawn, my man! We've been talking about you!" Gus can imagine what Lassiter's been saying about his best friend in the world. It isn't pretty, though it's probably quite similar to what he himself is thinking right now.

He has nothing against Woody, except that he's nuts; nor against Lassiter, save that he's probably going to kill them both at some point. It is the combination, plus the idea of spending more than half an hour with either of them, that's making him anxious. Briefly, he thinks about bolting, going back home and leaving Shawn to deal with his own messes. He already knows he won't do it, of course, but a man can dream.

"This is all your fault, Spencer; don't think you're not going to pay for it." 

Lassiter's grumbling is somewhat diminished by the noise around them. Also, he sounds more exhausted than angry, and he lacks some of his usual fire. He doesn't even push Shawn away when the psychic nudges him a little bit.

"Awww, Lassie, don't worry. The fun's just starting."

That's a threat if Gus has ever heard one. Still, Woody lets out an excited cheer, even clapping a couple of times. "Guys' night out! Let's find us some fine ladies, gentlemen!"

***

They do find themselves some ladies, at least. They're a group of partying young women, one of which looks at Gus with the sort of interest usually reserved for wild animals one previously thought were extinct. Still, a slightly weird interest is better than no interest at all, and the other three women are way too invested in whatever story Shawn's telling them to spare him more than a passing glance.

It really isn't fair. Here he is, with outstanding grades, a good enough job, and an enormously overlooked talent for musical theatre, and yet it is always Shawn who manages to get the girl. Covertly, he takes a look at both his unlikely companions: though Woody seems as entranced as the women by Shawn's story, Lassiter's glaring at the psychic, so much that, when the younger man catches on, he winks at him. The detective's eartips redden.

Great. So, he's not only not getting any; he's also going to die when Lassiter inevitably shoots them all. Just wonderful.

"And this, ladies, is my trusty companion, Happy Hi-"

"Burton Guster, pharmaceutical rep," he says, as smooth and charming as he manages. 

"That. Don't worry: despite the terribly boring job, he's a lot of fun." Swiftly, elegantly, Shawn distracts the women's attention from him. "Not Lassie, though: he's managed to be mind-numbingly boring even though he has a kick-ass job. It's a talent, really."

"Spencer, I am absolutely going to kill you, and it will be a long, painful death."

Undeterred, Shawn's grin grows in size.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Lassiepants. I'm holding you up on that 'long' thing!"

A giggle; Gus frantically searches for any sign of a gun on the detective. But Lassiter is nothing if not patient: he probably doesn't want witnesses when he finally murders Shawn.

The girls' names are easy to remember: Ashley, Ashlee, Ashleigh, and Tonya. They agree to hang out with them for a little while -see where the night takes us, in Shawn's words- as long as they all get to ride the Witch's Roller Coaster from Heck ( _family friendly fun_ *) first. Seeing the size of the thing, Gus wonders if it's really that necessary to get them to stay. Then, of course, he remembers they're supposed to be trying to get Woody's groove back in shape, and neither of the women has run away screaming upon meeting him. That's not likely to happen again any time soon.

So, Gus resigns himself to it. Riding the rollercoaster may actually be fun, he tells himself, even if it seems to be a couple hundred feet tall at its highest point. Besides, it'll be a great excuse to get closer to Tonya, who's still giving him some looks. They'll ride together, and when things get scary she'll lean onto him, and Gus will prove her he's the strong, caring man she-

"I call shotgun!"

"Spencer, this isn't a car! There's no shotgun in a rollercoaster!"

"Ha! Prove it, Lassiekins!"

He's of course awoken from his daydreaming by the harsh, disappointing reality of being best friends with Shawn Spencer. Both he and Lassiter are apparently trying to occupy the same space at the front of the coaster, scaring off Ashleigh (or is it Ashlee?), who had already gotten in. She's a pretty blonde with a nice something about her; still, the only thing those two get from her is a bewildered look while she steps back and moves to the second row, right beside Woody.

"No problem, guys, you can both ride up front." At that, Shawn seems more smug than he has any right to, seeing as the pretty girl he was going to ride next to has been replaced by Lassie. Still, Gus guesses his pride is intact, so there's that.

He himself sits down next to Tonya, who says nothing but gives him a small smile. This, he tells himself, can't be that bad.

***

It _is_ that bad. Worse, even.

He screams louder than the rest of his party, with the probable exception of the rather upsetting "Fly higher!" that Woody lets out. Tonya does offer him her hand to grip, though, so it sort of evens out. Only, by the time they reach the ground once again, Shawn makes sure to get her away from him before he has the chance to recover, and he finds himself stuck with a giddy-looking Woody and a grim, even-paler-than-usual Lassiter. Damn, that thing was high.

They walk around aimlessly, wandering from stand to stand without really stopping anywhere. Woody looks at everything with wide, unsettling eyes, and Gus finds himself steering him in the right direction more than once. Lassiter, on the other hand, has apparently decided that glaring at Shawn is the best way to spend what's left of the evening. Gus' attempts at conversation fall on deaf ears or, worse still, are answered with Woody's not entirely related ramblings. This, he decides after a while, is it: he's never again following Shawn anywhere, if it kills him. Dr Heckler's right: his chances at a good, balanced life drop dramatically each and every time he agrees to one of his best friend's idiotic adventures. This may yet end with a gun -probably Lassiter's- pointed at his head.

Ashley, or maybe Ashleigh, is the one that points out the churro stand, along with the large tables beside it. The four women practically skip towards them, sitting down on the benches and dragging Shawn with them. A newly distracted Woody and a grumbling Lassiter follow, and it takes Gus a moment to deduce that someone still needs to actually go and buy the churros, and that the only someone still standing is him.

"Shawn." His friend expertly ignores the warning in his tone, giving him a bright smile in return. "Shawn, I hope you don't expect me to-"

"Come on, Gus. Don't be a burnt chip in my bag. Aren't you enjoying yourself? Plus," he adds in a low, conspiratorial voice, "Tonya really likes chocolate churros, if you catch my drift." He wiggles his eyebrows, and Gus feels his face burning when she perks up, as if she'd heard her name. Not that it's impossible: Shawn's not exactly discreet.

Just to spare himself more embarrassment on his best friend's part, Gus decides to go ahead and buy churros for everyone. When he comes back to the table, the seating arrangements have changed; Shawn's wormed his way next to Lassiter, while Woody's comfortably sitting between Ashley and Ashlee. Approvingly, Gus notices there's a place for him right next to Tonya. He plops down in time to join in the conversation.

"Well, Lassie here has the best first date story ever" Shawn's voice has most of the women entranced, though the detective looks both slightly irritated and severely embarrassed at the same time. "C'mon, Lass, you should tell them the dead clown's story; I promise it's-"

"It was only once!," comes the older man's protest. He's blushing, but refuses to back away, tear his eyes from Shawn's. The psychic is smirking, clearly having a great time watching Lassiter squirm as the women playfully ask for more information.

"Twice, really. Which makes it still fresh, which in turn means we all need to hear it."

"Shut up, Spencer."

The newly arrived churros distract everyone's attention for a bit. There are polite praises and thank yous directed at Gus, who takes them elegantly and seizes the chance to start speaking to Tonya. Before he can use his signature Pluto move on her, though, he hears a slap and a very fake gasp.

"My, Lassie, you're just no fun tonight. I promise you, ladies, he's not usually this tense." With that, Shawn stands up, gets behind the detective and starts a very handsy back rub that the older man shakes away with a growl.

"Spencer, stop it!" 

Shawn's grin, evidently, grows at least three sizes.

"He's really tense," he tells the closest Ashley, or Ashlee, conspiratorially. "Must be the shock of having so many beautiful ladies around."

He winks at her, and the woman giggles and directs an appreciative look at Lassiter. Shawn's hyperactive nature takes the reins again soon enough, though.

"Hey, do you know what would be fun? We should go shooting."

Next to Gus, Tonya nods enthusiastically. Gus himself lets out a sigh, while he thinks he hears Lassiter mutter something along the lines of "shooting you". He feels a chill go down his spine: he's pretty sure that man's killed someone, at some point.

On the way to the shooting stand, he makes sure to avoid both Woody and Lassiter and keep up pace with Shawn. Though he feels a pang at wasting a chance to put his moves on Tonya, he really, truly needs to talk to his friend. This whole evening is a bad idea, sure, but it can still go worse, and he suspects Shawn is doing everything in his hand to make sure it does.

"Gus, buddy, I was just telling Ashleigh-"

"Ashlee."

"I was just telling Ashlee-"

"Cut it, Shawn. I need to talk to you."

Maybe it's his tone, or his expression, or the fact that he's still eating his churro, but Shawn frowns a little at that and separates both of them from the group with a small, silent apology.

"What's up? Are you feeling alright?" Shawn's very real concern is almost disarming; Gus has to make an effort to remember exactly why he's angry.

"Shawn, what the hell? I thought it was supposed to be just you and I."

"Don't you like the lovely Ashlee and co? I thought you were getting along just fine." A wink and a small nudge. Gus crosses his arms, stops moving. His friend stands still, too, with a 'huh' and a convincing innocent expression. Gus isn't buying it.

"Shawn," he sighs. A little way from them, Lassiter's looking back at them with a slight frown.

"That is indeed my name, Burton."

"It's not the time to be a smartass, Shawn." At his friend's inevitable response, he glowers. Shawn seems positively taken aback by it. "You set me up."

His friend shrugs.

"Well, I wouldn't call it that. We merely happened to bump into some friends while enjoying a deserved night out at the Spooky-"

"I wouldn't call Woody a friend, Shawn. He keeps getting my name wrong!"

"But it's the thought that matters!"

"Also, Lassiter hates you. And, by extension, me."

Shawn reddens a bit at that, shakes his head. 

"He does not! He _so_ doesn't hate me! Or you, for that matter!"

Instinctively, Gus' gaze skips to the group getting further away from them. Hah. He can't believe Shawn's ability to deny the obvious.

"Well, if he doesn't, then why did he slap you before? Checkmate, dude."

Shawn's expression scrunches up, and he mumbles something.

"What was that? I can't hear you."

The psychic sighs.

"I said, I might have eaten half of his churro." At Gus' alarmed expression, he throws up his hands. "I was going to enjoy it so much more than he! Also, his was bigger than the one I got. It was only fair."

"And, after that, the best idea you can come up with is _shooting_ , you know, with guns-" Gus is really trying to be reasonable here, but it keeps becoming harder and harder not to fly into hysterics.

"Nah, Gus. Remember: I tried the massage before going to such extreme lengths."

And he skips away, happily unconcerned by his newly highlighted death wish. With a puff and a promise to himself not to even bother going to his funeral, Gus follows.

***

Shawn has been weird ever since the Drimmer incident. Gus has even talked to Henry about it, and though the elder Spencer's not particularly worried, Gus can feel in his gut that something's not quite right.

For starters, Shawn has been avoiding him. Not always; not even at an alarming enough rate, if he's going to be honest with himself, but still. Both his real job and, mostly, his wallet are starting to feel the -very positive- consequences. 

At first, he chalked it all up to the traumatizing experience. Shawn may not usually show it, but he's still human, and he tends to be a bit off after such events. However, it's been almost four months, a bunch of cases, and he's still keeping it up. That's absolutely un-Shawn-like: he tends to get as bored of trauma as he does of The Mentalist reruns.

So, it's fair to say that Gus _is_ worried. Not enough that it will overcome his anger at, for example, having been duped into acting as a human shield against Lassiter. But enough for him to be extra mindful of his friend's more outlandish behaviours.

This, right now, may very well be considered a cry for help. He'll have to talk to Dr Heckler about booking an appointment with Shawn.

"Come on, Lassie, I can't believe you missed again."

Gus is pretty sure that, were they at the station, Shawn would already be dead, shot about a dozen times and strangled just in case. As it is, they're in front of a tacky stand, surrounded by witnesses, and the worst Lassiter's apparently willing to do is grit his teeth and unsuccessfully try and hit Shawn's side with the back of his compressed air shotgun.

As the psychic makes him miss his target for the third time -using the old tried trick of jamming his elbow into the older man's side when he's about to shoot, though not hard enough to hurt him-, Lassiter's had about enough.

"Let's see you do better, smartass."

And, of course, Shawn has to go and take it as a challenge. 

Next to him, an admittedly sexy Tonya is on a streak. As her friends and Woody cheer her on, she manages to hit one of the targets, winning herself a small plush bear -or mouse, or aardvark; it is honestly hard to tell- that she proceeds to offer Gus, thus distracting him momentarily from his bodyguard duties. While he's busy lovingly staring into the woman's eyes and wondering whether he should bring up Pluto right there just to seal the deal, Shawn keeps digging his own grave. By the time Gus is able to divert his attention from Tonya, his best friend has managed to win a giant-sized stuffed squirrel he insists on gifting away to Lassiter. 

"See?, the big squirrel will keep you safe from its smaller, meaner sisters, Lass. It's the perfect bodyguard!"

He should have never told Shawn about that time he caught the detective glaring at a tiny rodent. This is like the snowglobe prank all over again, only this time Lassiter has positive proof of his tormenter's identity.

Red-faced and very obviously fuming, the older man hits Shawn on the head with the toy. Always dramatic, Shawn takes the chance to whine very loudly and wriggle pathetically. In Gus' books, he's getting off way too easy here. If he were Shawn, he'd check every dark corner he passes from now on.

A discreet touch distracts his attention. Turning, he sees Woody up close, standing in his personal space and looking way too excited for it to be good at all.

"Caleb, I talked to the blonde Ashley," he tells him, his whole face a manic grin crowned by too-big eyes. "I think she likes me. She said they're going home, so I'm calling dibs. Just so, you know, you can choose one, too. Oh, man, this is going to be great! I can't wait to tell my wife!"

So, the girls are leaving. The most positive part of Gus' mind is just thanking every god he's ever heard of -even Father Westley would approve of that, given the circumstances- that there's probably not going to be a harassment suit. The rest is frantically moving towards Tonya, whose brown eyes twinkle amusedly at his expression.

"It's been a blast," she says with a shy smile. "Look, we're gonna go. Maybe we could-"

Her friends call to her, with a wave in their general direction and a hurried goodbye to Shawn. Gus gulps.

"Yeah. I guess we could." Her smile gets bigger, and she squeezes his hand lightly before turning to leave.

"Call me!"

It takes Gus longer than it should to remember she hasn't given him her number.

"Shit."

From behind, Shawn nudges him forward slightly. When he looks at his friend he sees a mischievous spark in his eye.

"Good night, right?"

Gus shakes his head, still a bit dumbstruck. It takes him a few seconds to gather himself up.

"She forgot to give me her number. She-"

"Gus! Come on, man, I leave you alone for a minute-!" He doesn't even comment that, technically, Shawn's been out of his reach for most of the evening, focused on humiliating Lassiter while shamelessly flirting with Ashlee, Ashley and Ashleigh. His friend sounds almost hurt. "I can't believe it! You should be running after her, man! Give love a chance!"

It does sound like a terrible idea, really. So, of course, someone has to take it to heart.

Only it is not Gus.

"You're right, Shawn! Wait for me, lovely lady! I'm coming!"

Woody rushes past him, way too fast for a man of his age and complexion. He's almost disappeared around the corner when Gus' brain catches up with what is happening, and terrible pictures of a future where the coroner reaches the women begin to spin around his brain. Before he's even consciously thought about it, he sprints.

"Woody! Woody, man, don't do this! Let it go!"

***

By the time he catches up with him, Woody's already been stopped by a very confused-looking Tonya, whose eyes light up when he appears. Panting, Gus manages a choked thank you; she shrugs.

"I was looking for you," she says. "I forgot to give you my number."

He's pretty sure his heart skips a beat. She's  _ the one _ : they've known each other for a couple of hours and already she's reading his mind. Putting on his winning smile, he nods.

"I was thinking the exact same thing," he tells her in what is hopefully a seductive voice. It can't be that bad, because she takes his phone and saves up a number. She even adds a heart next to her name.

"It was good to meet you, Gus. I hope-"

The sound of Woody clearing his throat interrupts her. The coroner gives her a pleading look before asking:

"Do you think blonde Ashley will want my number? I can give it to you: I think we had a real thing going, you know."

Tonya's expression really says it all. Gus cringes.

"I- don't think she's interested, really. See, she already has a boyfriend-"

"I'm not a jealous man."

"-and, and I think you're, you know, age difference, all that." She actually takes pity on the suddenly deflated Woody, patting his shoulder. "But it was nice to meet you all. Oh!, and you can tell Shawn, I mean, he's really cute." Gus will be doing  _ no such thing _ . "They both are, honestly. See you!"

She starts to leave before turning again and planting a small, nervous peck on Gus' cheek. His legs turn to rubber, and by the time they're solid again, she's gone.

Not a terrible evening, after all.

They walk back to the stand slowly, Woody still sulking while Gus mulls over this outing so far. He's going to tell Shawn  _ first  _ thing when he sees him, and then he's going to get him to buy him some food -hopefully with his own card- while he patiently explains that his success in love is, as with everything, a natural thing, but that they -Shawn, Lassie, even Woody- can still be taught a thing or two, with enough time and patience, so that next time he won't be the only one who gets a number out of this.

So engrossed is he in the speech he intends to give that he almost misses the couple making out a few feet away from the stand. It is Woody who points them out to him, an elbow to his belly and a very non-discreet whisper.

"Isn't that-?"

It is. Gus' eyes widen, his jaw slacking open while air becomes a scant commodity in his body. He lets out a gasp and tries to regain his balance; squinting his eyes, he can almost feel all of his blood freezing as his brain tries to make sense of what his eyes insist is happening right before him.

Lassiter's kissing Shawn. Or, or Shawn's kissing Lassiter: he can't actually be sure. But they're locking lips, and their bodies are perilously close, Shawn's arms circling Lassiter's waist while the detective, still holding the monstrous squirrel, breaks the kiss to whisper something in his friend's ear.

_ Please, let it be a death threat. _

They smooch again - it's not even the right kind of kissing, the one they can all later blame on an alcohol they haven't drunk yet. It is, instead, short and sweet, the type of kiss that's usually followed by a ridiculous pet name and a, and a- There it is.

Lassiter is  _ smiling _ .

Gus didn't even know the man's face had the right muscles to do it. 

"Wgaaatahell-" It takes him a moment to find out that's: a) his own voice, and b) the Queen's English. He's almost managed to catch his breath when Lassiter's eyes slide all the way to him: eyes widening, the older man takes a step back before urging Shawn to turn to them, and Gus' breath leaves him again.

"Eh- Uh-"

It takes Woody's cheerful interruption to reboot the three of them.

"Guys, you're not gonna believe this, but I think blonde Ashley may not like me after all. I know, I know you're disappointed; but we'll have to live with it. Still, I think I'm going to tell my wife-"

"What. The. Hell, Shawn." 

This time, Gus makes sure to carefully enunciate each of the words. His friend gulps and looks behind him at Lassiter, who's holding the giant squirrel before him as a sort of shield. The detective shakes his head.

"You're on your own here," he almost stutters. For a second, he seems to be actually  _ afraid  _ of Gus.

"Well, you see, buddy. Ehrm-" This can't be happening. Shawn's stammering, searching for words: the end of the world must be coming. 

This, Gus decides, will not stand. He can live -barely- with the picture of his best friend's tongue stuck down Lassiter's throat, but he's not prepared to visit Bizarro world yet. 

He forces himself to calm down, closes his eyes and breathes in and out. Images of the evening flow into his brain, suddenly showing themselves in a new light. Not one -hard- shove on Lassie's part, not even when Shawn's been at his handsiest. The churro incident, the way his best friend's body was pressed against the detective's even though there was plenty of room on the benches. The massage  _ -of course _ the massage-, the shocking lack of retaliation when Shawn's thrown Lassiter's aim off once and again. Urgh, the  _ squirrel _ .

It really should've been obvious, in retrospect.

Shawn's still looking sort of frightened when he opens his eyes again, though at least he seems capable of speech again.

"Okay. Okay, Gus; don't get mad. I was going to tell you, I promise; I just didn't see the point in giving you a heart attack just yet." He looks at Lassiter sideways when he says it. The detective -Shawn's boyfriend, Gus realizes- squirms.

"Look Guster, it was my idea, alright?" He's still holding up the squirrel, as if it's going to protect him. "Shawn and I- we just needed some time to figure things out, okay?"

He's lying, he realizes. Carlton Lassiter is lying so that Gus won't kill his best friend. The thought makes him feel both powerful and extremely uncomfortable.

"Gus-" He holds up a hand, shutting Shawn up. The psychic takes a small step back, and Lassiter's arms open enough to let him enter the squirrel-protected perimeter.

He really should've seen this one coming.

"Okay," he manages. His voice is not as settled as he would've liked, but it will do. "I think- I think we'll need to talk about this, Shawn." Again, his friend seems about to speak; with a forceful shake of his hand, he demands silence. "But, but right now I think I'd rather have a churro or two. You're buying."

It's the best he can offer, really. He does feel betrayed, a little, and he'll probably need to go over all this once he's home. Also, he's never ever going to tell Shawn that Tonya said he was cute. Ever.

It seems to be enough for his friend, though. Shawn leaves Lassiter's embrace and a tentative smirk spreads through his lips.

"You got it, man." The psychic holds up a fist; without hesitating, Gus bumps it, and it's as if a heavy weight has been lifted. Suddenly it's easier to breathe. "Let's go celebrate sir Gus' conquest, Lassie! Churros await us!" 

(Lassiter's paying for them. Gus doesn't need to be psychic to see that, really.)

It is not until they're settled down at the churro stand, stuffing themselves and letting Shawn mindlessly blabber about nothing and everything, that Gus allows himself to take a good look at them. Lassiter's hair is slightly mused and grease-stained where Shawn's hand has ruffled it up; he's still smirking, a small curve at the edge of his lips while he follows the psychic's every movement with his eyes. And Shawn stops every now and then to take a big bite out of his churro, taking the chance to graze the older man's arm discreetly, smiling a bit wider when he does so.

Maybe Tonya's right, after all.

They're almost done, almost ready to pack and leave, when Woody speaks up again.

"So, guys," he starts, and a warning chill goes through Gus' body as the coroner scouts uncomfortably close. "I have to admit, this is the best double date ever!"

He's  _ so  _ going to kill Shawn.

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's been a few years since the last time I wrote any fanfiction, but the Psych's fandom has been calling to me and it was getting harder and harder to resist. Though my first little idea for a drabble grew monstrously, I am quite happy with the result.


End file.
